


Cub

by Virodeil



Series: Caught Is Caught Is Cuddled [33]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Gen, Internalised Racism, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Mama laufey, Mystery, POV Loki (Marvel), Unexpected Family Relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virodeil/pseuds/Virodeil
Summary: Loki scouts ahead as a wolf, when Thor and co go to Jötunheim after Thor’s failed coronation.He goes and never comes back.Not as Loki Odinson, at any rate.
Relationships: Laufey (Marvel) & Loki (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Series: Caught Is Caught Is Cuddled [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1089204
Comments: 19
Kudos: 78





	Cub

**Author's Note:**

> Note on names:  
> Ammyé: Mummy (shortened diminutive of Mother)  
> Loé: Loptr: Loki  
> Ýmir: deity of the jötnar
> 
> Note on age: The jötnar in Rey-verse age at least twice slower than the æsir till they come of age, and even slower past coming of age. To the jötnar in Rey-verse, Loki is still very much a child, biologically (however adult-looking he is) and in culture, although mentally is a different matter entirely. Similarly, Laufey is an adult comparable to a 30ish modern human.
> 
> Started on: 5th February 2021 at 07:42 AM  
> Finished on: 23rd February 2021 at 04:43 PM

“Thor, this environment, it is good for an ambush, even by giants,” Loki Odinson hisses to the Crown Prince of Asgard, who is – somewhat unfortunately – also his elder brother, although thankfully not the King of Asgard yet, as he trots to keep up with the said brother’s eager strides, a few paces ahead of his brother’s cronies. “If you wish to keep going, you should send someone to scout ahead.” He doubts it will save them, truly, just maybe postpone the inevitable, as he can already sense wary and even hostile _hidden_ eyes on this band of Asgardian invaders, but _still_.

Thor Odinson looks round exaggeratedly to the jagged cliffs and piles of scree, which are at most twice the height of an average Asgardian. “Unless they are runts, where would they hide?” he scoffs, then continues dismissively, “But if you would like to hide behind your tricks, feel free, brother.”

Loki glares, sniffs, then flows into the form of a wolf and speeds off without any more word or glance to his brother, all while cloaked in invisibility and stealth.

It is not the first time Thor or others have expressed such opinion about him and his seiðr, he tells himself.

It still hurts, however.

He seeks to forget it, to ignore it, just like the other times, and chooses to revel in darting here and there as near as he dares to the invisible jötnar. Comparably visible in his snowy coat and ice-blue eyes, so as to draw the beasts’ attention to him instead of his foolish and reckless companions, and also to conserve his energy.

But, if he would be truthful, at least to himself, and if he set aside why he is here – what _all of them_ are here – and what Thor said to him so recently, this task is actually not so hard to do. The seemingly barren land is _so different_ in the eyes and nose and paws and coat of a wolf, and he relishes in the _richness_ of it.

Many times, the jötnar try to capture him, but he senses no ill will in them and not even a desire to eat a seeming wolf – well, wolf _cub_ , rather, but he never wants to acknowledge this persisting oddity that nobody has ever been able to explain – that he is at present, so he ignores them for the most part and treats this as an impromptu holiday, _at last_ after decades of Thor-this and Thor-that following the King’s declaration of Thor’s impending coronation last century. He leaps from rock to rock, gambolled about on the snowdrifts, rolls round on patches of fine snow and thick moss under the shelter of overhanging cliffs, and dashes after stray breezes that ruffle his fur and tell him of rich soil supporting plenty of life somewhere else.

Really, if he had not come here with a small band of cocksure, belligerent Asgardians who have so carelessly smashed the fragile peace into pieces for the action of a few bold jötnar during Thor’s failed coronation – for _his_ action, indirectly – and if this were not Jötunheim, he would have been _happy_ to stay here for a few years mostly as a wolf and explore to his heart’s content. He feels so _free_ , unencumbered by _everything_ , and the seiðr here even feels like home, even more than the presence of his mother, although, strangely enough, it is somewhat akin to the presence of his father.

And then, all of a sudden, _something_ touches him, derailing all his thoughts and imaginings at once. It is not really a scent, and not a deliberate attempt at mental communication either, more like a unique impression that he once – a very, very, very long time ago – knew quite well.

It speaks of _home_ , even more than the seiðr round here.

He finds himself skidding to a stop physically, not only mentally, burying himself in stirred-up snow because of it, shocked and confused and so, so wary.

Nonetheless, almost against his will, he follows the touch to its source, the best that he can.

He _really_ wonders what his parents hid from him or what he has forgotten from his earliest childhood when, after some time meandering closer and closer to the ruins of a building, the first that he has encountered thus far, he comes upon a frost giant that seems to _also_ have been wandering.

Judging by the markings on its body, which match the sketches on the manuscripts detailing the last war, it is _Laufey_.

And the incorporeal touch from some time ago _matches_ its presence.

` _What? Why would **Laufey** be so familiar to me? Mother and Thor never left Asgard when the war was going on! How did I come here, then? Did Father bring me here? But **why**? I must have been a newborn still! But, no, I was born on the Victory Day, was I not? It was the end of the war, so I would not have been born yet during the war. So Father would not have **any** reason to bring me here, would he? Argh, this is so confusing!_`

As distracted as he is with his internal fretting and bafflement, Loki fails to keep himself extra aware of his surroundings. All the while, he has apparently been creeping closer and closer to the looming figure of the jötun, or maybe the jötun has been approaching him, or probably a little of both. In any case, he suddenly finds himself in the _arms_ of the said jötun.

Panicked, he wriggles about and snaps his jaws together, struggling to get free and _squeaking_ – too short-breathed to whine – in distress.

And then a huge hand rubs the back of his neck gently, unceasingly, and he finds his body relaxing despite the panic still coursing in his mind. ` _What is this? How did this jötun…? Why would **Laufey** do this?_`

An etherial-sounding set of wordless melodies sweeps the hysteria off, in turn, like a gentle wave sluffing away a layer of sand. It is nearly as familiar as the presence that then drenches him and soaks him through, and Loki twitches from stubby snout to bushy tail.

Laufey shares his utter bewilderment, it seems, as the presence cocooning him and steeping him in it now radiates plenty of such emotion.

Loki takes some cold comfort from the mutual confusion of the apparently instinctive reactions that both of them have been dragged by all this time, but it is not enough – _far_ from enough – to mollify him.

It just sparks _many more_ questions, which in turn ignites yet another bout of hysteria.

` _Am I related to a **jötun**? **How** would it have come about? Am I related to **this** jötun? **How**? Are Father and Mother not my parents in truth? **Why** did they never tell me, then? Was I just a creature Father took out of pity? As a pet to keep Thor company? As some trophy at the end of the war? As hostage to insure the frost giants’ compliance to the peace treaty alongside the Casket of Ancient Winters?_`

Oddly enough, his re-spiking distress – the distress of _a stranger_ – ignites fretful worry in his captor. The latter even goes as far as physically crooning to him in a language that is somehow untranslatable by Allspeak.

Actually, the surprising quirk of the language is what calms him down at length, as his captor’s calming tones – especially combined with the heartbeats and breathing, which are as _viscerally_ familiar as the presence is – only make him even more unnerved, reminding him of how Mother – ` _Is she even my mother?_ ` – used to try to calm him down when he was small. He can even vaguely remember _King Odin_ doing it to him earlier than that, which makes him positively _freaked out_. But the oddity of the language sparks _clean_ curiosity, and so it is the safe place that he has been craving for.

And then his captor teases apart the layers of wards he has cocooning him, and he positively _squeals_ in shock.

Because the said captor has _also_ peeled off wards that he _never put on himself_ , and he feels suddenly, awefully light and naked without them.

Not to mention, the lack of the barriers makes the jötun _even more familiar_ to him.

It is made worse as Laufey is _just as shocked_ as he is.

And worst yet, _the leader of the frost giants_ then babbles, in a voice that is all too raw and vulnerable, which Loki cannot argue as being only a pretence since it is delivered mind-to-mind in a maelstrom of emotions too chaotic and jagged to be faked, ` _Loptr? Is that you? Oh, child, is that you? My child! But how? Why only now? Where has Loé been staying? Why not come back sooner? Oh, Ýmir, my child! Thank Ýmir – my child is returned to me! But why a wolf-cub? Did the Asgardians chase after Loé and Loé had to hide? Ammyé is going to punish them for this as well!_ `

Loki looks up, totally nonplussed, just dimly aware that he was whimpering and burying his snout into the jötun’s armpit _for comfort_ , like a little child or a cub indeed.

He does not understand much of the words in the jötun’s babbling, but he _does_ understand the gist of it, although he wishes with all his might that he were yet ignorant of it.

` _Parent? How?_ ` he sputters.

The jötun chuckles, but there is little mirth in it. ` _How was Loé formed? Or how was Loé lost?_ `

Loki shivers, but not with cold.

There is neither omission nor evasion in Laufey’s words, just blunt truths.

It would have meant that, someday in the past, he was _stolen_ from his rightful home, for whatever reason.

And the thieves never confessed to anybody about it.

` _I was never lost!_ `

The both of them know that the statement is a blatant lie, however; only an empty show of defiance.

And then there is no more chance to say or do anything else, not for the both of them, as, from not so far away, Thor’s voice can be heard squawking, “What? Is it not my brother? There, the little wolf in the beast’s arms. No, it will eat him – Loki!”

The squawked-about person in wolf form can only cringe to that, for more than one reason, as his captor bursts out laughing.

` _Oh, Thor…._ `

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the journey, brief and simple as it was. I hope you are not fed up yet with this series, too. This month alone, I spawned about 30 new ideas, adding the count to 50 WIPs, just for this series alone. I would welcome more ideas, still, and comments about the works, including this one. Even just emoticons would be great. ☺  
> Rey


End file.
